


Sweetheart Like You

by laudanum_and_wine



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: (sort of), Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Gen, Gore, Junkrat catches Roadhog, M/M, Slow Burn, let's take over the world, mild body horror, smart junkrat
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-09-01 07:05:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8614348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laudanum_and_wine/pseuds/laudanum_and_wine
Summary: When Hog met the skinny little half-a-Junker he had no idea that he was being cast as a player in a Grand Scheme. Hog didn't even consider that someone might have plans stretching out more than a year, he certainly wasn't looking further than a few days. While Rat wasn't volunteering information along the way, Hog slowly became more aware of the detail and scope of the dreams he'd signed on to. It should have sounded crazy, but the more he heard from his partner the more impressed he became. He decided Junkrat might be more than a little insane but at some point Hog also decided he was also more than a little bit genius. And beautiful. And perfect. 
(Rating may go up as chapters are posted, but no plans for wanton smut [sorry y'all!] The slowness of the burn will have more to do with where the Junkers are in their relationship and less to do with "a 50k work fic where no one gets handsy until 40k in". I do not have a Beta, apologies in advance.)





	

The sky was a pleasant shade of tangerine orange, even though the sun was relatively high in the sky. The dust in the air was heavy today, and it actually alleviated some of the baking heat from the sun. Hog used one knuckle to brush the red grit from his masks lens, and glared down the road through the haze.

“Sand's thick today, eh?” The figure on the side of the road was skittering back and forth pulling a wire taut and testing electronics at either end. “It's nice, but wish I had some tarp to cover these up. Don't want the grit jamming shit up.” 

Hog grunted and tugged out a large bandanna and waved it a little, never taking his eyes away from the horizon. 

“Ah, jeez mate, thanks. Ya sure? Won't get it back, likely.” The younger man hobbled over and took one edge of the red cloth. 

Hog just grunted and waved a hand, settling on the bike further. 

“Perfect, right color and everythin!” With a ripping noise the cloth was halved, and each piece was tucked carefully over a bundle of wires and explosives. 

In the distance the dust was thickening, a wave of red roiling up from the ground headed directly for the two men. 

“Storm. They'll be in it,” Hog grunted the word, then turned over the bike, facing it away from the line across the road and away from the storm itself. He sat in silence, listening to the other man hobble closer, the slap crack of mismatched legs.

“It is the most BEAUTIFUL day though, innit? Just fucking gorgeous, got the sun off our backs, wind in our hair!” 

This was followed by a mad giggle as the smaller man scrambled over the fuel tank and into Hogs lap. A peg-leg was jammed next to Hogs own foot, while the boy sat on his own left leg. His good left hand reached over a shoulder to hook on to a metal hoop in hog's vest, like they'd done this a million times. Like this was the way anyone at all got around in the Outback, an everyday casual act of physical contact. Like this was the kind of place where people had human contact and didn't get spooked out of their damn skin. 

The boy adjusted his grip on his grenade launcher and tipped his head back to look at Hog's mask. 

“Well? You said it, storm's headed this way...” 

Hog snorted out of his thoughts and kicked the bike into gear, leaving the storm and wire and shredded bandanna behind them. They made it a few miles before the muffled explosion could be heard from within the advancing red cloud. Hog tipped his head, waiting for a reaction from the man in front of him.

“Trap went off,” he finally said. 

“Oh, great! Didn't even hear it, but good, great. Hey, drive off the road, I'll lay out a few mines!” the younger man had to shout over the wind. 

Hog slowed to pull onto the sandy ground beside the pavement but still rumbled on, keeping the road in sight on his left. The smaller man squirmed a bit, digging through his pockets, then began chucking a few smallish pipes to the left and right. He tapped Hog's arm after a few moments, and they pulled back onto the asphalt and up to full speed. 

The recentness of the explosion and their brief time off-road left Hog uncomfortable with the lead on their pursuers. He hunched a bit and tried to get the motorcycle up to full speed, looking ahead for their turn-off, trying to figure out how the hell he'd come to this frustrating unplanned race in front of a storm.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Hog was trapped and miserable and vacillating between mad as hell and deeply impressed. Mostly the mad as hell bit, if he was honest. 

The razor-ribbon around his left arm was digging in on his elbow, which would have been less painful if the razors had not been half-rusted. And bent. He wriggled his hand one more time, trying to dislodge the teeth biting into his palm. What he'd thought was a simple solution to his predicament was apparently a trap. A fox trap, he was guessing. 

When the front door of the building proved too solid to be pried open, and once he'd REALLY gotten his signature hook trapped in the door jam, Hog had went for a more subtle plan B. Though laced with razor-ribbion, the once glass windows on either side of the door were still a sort of access, and the razor-ribbon was not all that effective a barrier. He'd stretched his thankfully long arm through the broken window of the house to open the door from inside only to find what, based on the pressure on his hand, had been said fox trap snapping shut with a crack. Now he was staring at a small porthole in the steel reinforced door, stuck arm deep in the house via a cage of razors and rusted metal. 

Hog was very aware this little hamlet was too good to be true when he rode into the town, so he wasn't exactly surprised at this situation. Embarrassed, but not shocked. He'd seen the smoke from a fire, smelled cooked meat, and thought that if he wanted to kill a man his size a town this big might be able to hide the junkers needed to do it. 

But who wanted to kill him that he hadn't already done away with? 

And although Hog knew he'd have work soon, he also knew his employer was a pay-after-delivery type of man, and he'd need to gather supplies for the job on his own. So really NOT checking the place out would have been a massive mistake. 

Most of the buildings in town had been blown out, windows shattered, ceilings collapsed down to crush the lower stories. The one he was now becoming intimately acquainted with was one of the few with recent patchwork repairs on it. 

Hog stared at the sign just past his left arm. In scribbled chalk next to the door it read “Please ring bell!” next to what might have been meant to be a smiling face. 

Hog grumbled and reached over his own arm, pressing the buzzed with his right forefinger. 

There was no bell sounding. Hog thought of the scores of bombs he'd avoided or disarmed on the way to this house, and silently hoped that the bell wasn't just a trigger for particularly stupid visitors. 

Finally he heard a faint click, and what he had assumed was a defunct security system on his right swung to point at him. The camera panned up and down him, then to the yard, looking for others no doubt. Hog shifted so that his trapped arm was hidden from sight and tried a thumbs up at the camera hoping he could imitate a friendly guest. From somewhere above him a crackling speaker kicked into life with a few pops. 

“Fuck, mate: I am so glad ta see ya! I have been waiting for you and cleaning the remains of all the other idiots off the lawn for days now. There'd be a pile of severed hands behind that door if I hadn't just tidyed up for ya.” 

Hog shifted, dropping the pretense of just being a friendly neighbor of some kind. If the idiot inside was waiting for him, odds were good he wasn't about to be killed. Well, that or the little shit was going to gloat then kill him, which was possible but not common among junkers. 

“First off, can we both agree that right now, I could kill ya ten ways to Sunday and there ain't a damn thing you could do to stop me.” 

Hog stared up at the camera, unamused. 

“So now we're on the same page, here's how this is gonna go: I'm gonna talk, make you an offer. Then I'm going ta let you go, and you can walk out of here. Then you can give me an answer for my offer, if ya want.” There was a choked giggle over the speakers before the voice came back, “I bet you'll have a strong opinion on this, one way or the other.” 

Hog stared at the speaker, waiting. When the silence continued, Hog nodded once. He wasn't accepting shit, but he needed this horror show to move forward, his hand was starting to actually ache from the pressure of the steel trap. 

“Right. You're a big bloke, we both know you only get the toughest jobs in Oz, and only when everyone else has blown it before ya. So ya know what your next job is gonna be, roight?” 

Hog narrow his eyes behind the mask. He'd had some guesses as to where his now-and-then boos would direct him hence the attempt to look for supplies here, so he nodded once. The voice tittered and continued excitedly.

“It's Junkrat, roight? The mad bomber. Ya probably know he took out the first three fucks sent after him. Turned em into puddles. Mostly puddles, puddle shaped. Ya know Jonah back in town is gonna ask you to go collect and bring in the guy, and alive to boot. Ya know ya won't get paid well, but they won't offer ya nothing insulting neither. Sound pretty fucking boring ta me.” 

Hog resisted raising an eyebrow. That was a little astute of this kid: Hog was bored as shit with the infrequent and underfunded missions Jonah sent him out on. The bigger a reputation he gained the less he had to, or rather got to, work. And as for Junkrat, ever since the remains of the first hunters had been found (or rather after someone realized the fine red mist inside the bungalow west of town was in fact human remains) Hog had know this job was going to be his. He'd started asking around after the twitchy target long before Jonah had sent out the second or third men, and he knew the third fucker was dead before Jonah had even realized it. He'd work up from the damn concussion blast, and who the fuck else was setting off explosives that big at 3am? 

“So what I think is that ya need something a little more equitable, and a little more interesting. Work with me, be on my side, and instead of a one-time hunt and a one-time payment ya get fifty percent of all my hauls.” The voice trailed off before a few quiet coughs, then continued “Plus, ya know, little bit more fun then waiting around Junkertown for the next dumb fuck to cross Jonah and become your problem.” 

Hog snorted at that. The coughing had been the best part of that pitch to Hog: it sounded like this kid was sick. Maybe he could get the brat to actually let him free if he agreed to help out, then once he was loose he'd find some other less painful way to get in the house and kill the idiot. Hog was about to actually open his mouth, trying to find something nice to say-

“Oh shit, sorry for the delay there! Roight, yer freedom, hang on a tic,” the voice cut him off, and he heard a snap as the power to the speaker cut out. 

After a few minutes, Hog heard a cough and the sound of uneven steps behind the door. Before he could think of a way to withdraw his hand, he felt the metal teeth being pried out as the trap was forced open, then a yelp as the trap snapped shut once off his hand. Hog pulled his arm carefully through the razor-ribbon gauntlet of the broken window and stepped back a pace. After a few snaps of bolts being withdrawn the thick door swung open and revealed a thin figure. Hog's once-trapped hook clattered to the porch between them. 

The man was tall for Junker standards, and not as malnourished as Hog had expected. His skin was ghastly white under streaked grime and soot, and he was standing as straight as he could, though the effect was marred by his left hand clutching the door frame and a intermittent cough that wracked his frame. 

“Why,” Hog cleared his throat loudly then tried again. “Why shouldn't I just fucking kill you now?” 

“Cuz I could'a killed ya dead, and I didn't. I let ya go. And because you should consider my offer: fifty-fifty.” The man was stopped by a cough, then hacked a few times, doubling over. He almost brought the hand not keeping him upright to his lips, but jerked it back. Hog saw the black in the palm clear as day. 

“Kid, you dying?” Hog took one further step back, eyeing the now hunched form, glancing at shaking peg and the bareness of the other foot. 

“Nah. Gotta take me hand off, it's half rotted in the middle. Just, ya know, could sure use some help with that. If yer staying.” The shaky junker looked up at Hog, with nothing like hope in his eyes, something closer to suspicion.

Hog looked back to his bike where he'd tucked it behind another porch down the street. He glanced back at the bombs in the yard, and the now obviously shivering kid. 

“I'll take your arm off. If you live, I'll stay.” 

The sick man smiled, showing a still-bloody gap in his canines, and shuffled back to allow Hog into the house. 

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

 

The storm rolled up behind them incrementally until at some point Hog had to accept they were actually in it and couldn't outrun the thing. He let out a satisfied huff when he realized they'd reached the turn-off before their visibility was totally compromised. With any luck Jonah and his men would miss the turn altogether, and maybe the bikes tracks would be gone by then as well. 

The dirt road was well packed and lined with small boulders, though the loose sand blowing over it now concerned Hog a little. If those boulders were totally covered it'd be a little harder to find the path back to the paved road. Might cost them time, which might matter. Rat hooted and pointed with his prosthetic hand when a looming cliff face was visible in the half-twilight, and Hog pulled off the dirt path heading for the cliff immediately. Riding along the foot of the cliff face they saw the cave after just a few hundred meters. Hog stopped the bike before they hit the entrance and pushed at the smaller junker. 

“Make sure it's not occupied.” 

“By who? Geckos?!” The kid objected, but walked toward the cave anyway. After a few moments of silence, an arm reached out to wave Hog in. Hog flicked on his headlight as the bike entered the darkness, and parked the machine in the back right, where there was flat space for it. After a moment he turned the thing around to face out, just in case they needed a quick exit. 

The wind was carrying most of the sand past the cave leaving the air inside much clearer and easier to breathe. Drifts were piling up near the narrow mouth of the chamber. Hog sat beside the other man, staring out at the hazy orange-red storm outside their shelter. Hog tugged the mask off his face, flipping it open to expose the innards. His fingers tugged out the two particulate filters and shook the dust and sand out of them with a few slaps against his knee. Fitting them into place again was a tad trickier, but after a few twists they were once again secure. 

Hog glanced left, at the utter silence of the man beside him. 

“What.” 

“Wha- Nothin! Just never actually seen yer face before, just realized it. You wear that thing all the time, wasn't sure ya could take it off to be honest, but didn't want to pry,” The man stared at his hands as thought they were fascinating, flexed metal and flesh fingers at the same time. 

“Take your damn arm off, kid. Might as well look at those stitches.” Hog held open a palm for the limb in question. He was mildly surprised when the other man slapped it into his hand and quickly removed the thing with a huff. 

“Better, mate. Itches like hell, thought I was gonna lose it for awhile on the road there.” 

Hog set the arm down in his lap carefully, and helped unwind the bandages that were left. 

“Well that's why: the stitches are falling out.” At the short inhalation from the smaller man Hog clarified, “That's good. Means that your skin is healing enough it doesn't need em. Probably should let it get some air, shouldn't be wearing the arm.” 

“Tell that to Jonah,” Rat laughed. “Maybe he'll give me a week to rest up if we ask real nice.” 

Hog shook his head, pulling a relatively clean bandage roll from his pocket. He tossed it to the other man and stood. He proceded to rummage through a saddlebag on the bike, pulling out a bag of dried vegetables and throwing it directly at the back of his partners head. 

“We might have gotten away clean, might only have a half hour or so before they catch up. With luck the dust is bad enough that they ride right past the turnout, and the storm keeps them from seeing the cave from the road even if they don't.” 

“Just gotta wait, roight?” The seated man was gnawing on a dried tomato, the red flesh leaving a grim tint on his grin.

“Right. If you hear engines, or if the storm lets up within the hour, wake me.” 

“Yer gonna sleep? Just like that? ”

“Listen, I know for a fact you passed out on the bike you little shit. I'm tired, you get first watch.” Hog shuffled to the back of the cave, just past the bike, and propped himself us against the wall with a huff. 

“Roight, gotcha. You sleep it off big guy. Sweet dreams. Sleep if off. I'll look out for-” 

“Shut. Up.” 

Hog pulled his mask back over his face, further darkening his view. He nodded off to sleep listening to the crunch of the other junker snapping dried green beans in half like twigs. 

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Hog stared down at the smaller man, who was reaching across his body with his left arm for a bottle. The little junker almost had it in his fingers when Hog picked it up and moved it away.

“Can't. You'll bleed out.” 

“Wot? You mean I gotta do this in my right mind? You're taking my fucking arm off and I gotta watch?” 

“I'd suggest you don't look. But yeah. Didn't do that last time?” Hog gestured at the knee between them.

“Don't remember. Was just a kid. Fuck, had a nice normal leg, lasted all of three fucking weeks.” 

“Where am I starting the cut?” Hog tried to derail the man fast. He hadn't asked, didn't want to wonder if that was before or after the Omnium. 

“Here,” The smaller man coughed a few times, then pointed with his good hand at a spot about mid-forearm on himself. “I already made the prosthetic to fit over the muscles, just need ya to cut in the roight spot so one of me arms ain't longer than the other.” 

“You made a prosthetic?” 

“Fuck yeah,” the little man laughed. “My palm might be rotting out, but my thumb and few fingers still work for now. Can't see no way to get rid of the rot and not them, though. I thought it's gonna be a shame to lose 'em, might as well have them make their own replacements while I can! Like digging their own tiny graves.” 

Hog nodded as though this was the most banal conversation he'd had all week, and started to gather up the ropes and belts the small man had collected. They'd set up a chair, nailed to the kitchen counter of the house on one side and the kitchen wall at the back. The nails were uneven and probably too many for the job, but neither one wanted the little man to get loose mid-surgery. 

“Strap your legs and chest down, I'll go clean the saw.” Hog took the confiscated bottle outside along with their bone saw. He dumped a generous amount of the liquid over the saw, and over another sharp piece of razor he'd freed from the ribbons in the front of the house. With a backward glance, Hog took a substantial drag from the bottle himself. He wasn't squeamish about the gore he'd be facing soon, but wasn't used to trying to keep someone's blood all INSIDE of them. He nodded to himself and tried to remind himself there was no risk to him in this procedure. Either the kid carked it or he didn't, either way Hog wasn't out a damn thing. 

“Hey mate, not nice to keep a bloke waiting! Hurry the fuck up before I think this through!” the yell carried outside to Hog, but was followed by coughing. 

Hog made his way back to the kitchen and dropped the tools and bottle on the square of clean fabric the kid had provided. In some kind of miracle the kid had also dug up an unopened suture kit, which went next to the blow-torch and screwdriver on the counter. 

The kid handed Hog a hammer and a few nails, and gestured with his good hand to a leather belt tightened around his bicep. 

“You'll have to nail that one in, in case I try to jerk around. There's another one for my forearm, if ya think you need it.” 

Hog looked the kid in the eyes for the first time in hours, staring though the semi-reflective lenses and wondering if the other man had even noticed his lack of eye contact. The bound junker's eyes were resigned, and maybe just a little expectant. If Hog had seen a trace of trust or hope, he'd have walked right back out that door. But expectation he could live with. 

“I'll be able to hold your arm down. Use the leather as a gag.” 

Rat nodded, and slipped the folded leather between his teeth. 

“Aigh. 'O fer et.” 

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Hog woke up with a start, jerking his head up. The light from day was blinding at the cave entrance. He stood slowly, finding the smaller man silhouetted against the harsh glow. It looked to be late afternoon, the sun was slanting into the cave entrance from a sharp angle at the right. Hog rocked the motorcycle off its stand and rolled it to just behind the other man. 

“You never woke me.” 

“Ya needed the sleep. No sign of Jonah since the storm cleared. Dust finally died down about 20 minutes ago, and I thought about wakin' ya but didn't want to risk my other arm,” the man snickered and stood, dusting himself off as he approached Hog and the bike. It looked like he was reattaching his new prosthetic, tightening it with teeth and his other hand. 

“Arm better?” Hog threw one leg over the bike, then scooted back a few inches to make room for the lean man in front of him. The smaller man climbed onto the bike and resumed his normal half-lotus position on the frame in front of the seat. 

After a few moments of silence, Hog started the engine and pushed out of the cave into the once-again-scalding sunlight. 

“Rat?” Hog shrugged one massive shoulder to catch the boys attention. 

“It's fine. I just feel it, even when the new one's taken off. I can feel my fingers, just can't move em. 'M sick of it.” The junker hooked his left arm into Hog's harness again and adjusted his metal grip on the grenade launcher. 

“It'll get better.” Hog plowed through a drift of sand to find the row of boulders lining the back-road that would lead them to pavement again. Rat seemed to settle a little further back, his spine already unpleasantly sweaty but unavoidable on Hog's skin.

“I'll take your word for it,” The smaller man glared into the sun as they turned back onto the asphalt and drove into to the west, back over the ghosts of tracks they'd left earlier that day now swept clean by sand and time.


End file.
